


nightswimming deserves a quiet night

by ericdire (aarobron)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Skinny Dipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25483501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/ericdire
Summary: “What’s up?” He slurs, shifting until he can lift himself up to rest on his forearms. He squints and can just about make out the flush of Virgil’s cheeks in the moonlight. He looks lovely. “What time is it?”“Late,” Virgil murmurs, like a hushed confession. He uses the hand on Jordan’s shoulder to drag the older man up until he’s sitting, sheets pooled at the waist, and then slides it down his arm to tangle their fingers together. “Do you trust me?”“You know I do,” Jordan says automatically. He rubs his eyes with his free hand and blinks helplessly at Virgil. He has absolutely no idea what’s going on.
Relationships: Virgil van Dijk/Jordan Henderson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	nightswimming deserves a quiet night

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i wrote this in an hour at 1am because the song came on shuffle and i cried my eyes out.
> 
> [please please please go listen to this song before/while you read!!!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahJ6Kh8klM4) it influenced it a lot more than just being a song about skinny dipping, i swear. it's the whole ~vibe~ too
> 
> i hope you enjoy this fic!! feedback and comments and kudos always always always appreciated! love you xx

Jordan blinks himself awake.

It’s not natural – something has woken him up. Someone, more like. Fingers, wrapped around the ball of his shoulder. The heat of a palm, calluses catching on the faded material of his t-shirt. He opens his eyes and sees Virgil grinning at him, far too bright for the darkness of the hour.

“What’s up?” He slurs, shifting until he can lift himself up to rest on his forearms. He squints and can just about make out the flush of Virgil’s cheeks in the moonlight. He looks lovely. “What time is it?” 

“Late,” Virgil murmurs, like a hushed confession. He uses the hand on Jordan’s shoulder to drag the older man up until he’s sitting, sheets pooled at the waist, and then slides it down his arm to tangle their fingers together. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do,” Jordan says automatically. He rubs his eyes with his free hand and blinks helplessly at Virgil. He has absolutely no idea what’s going on.

“Good,” Virgil says, squeezing Jordan’s hand tight. He lets go completely and takes a few steps away. Jordan feels the loss of his body heat like a punch to the gut, and he hates it. He’s not sure when he became quite so dependent on another person. “Get dressed. I want to take you somewhere.”

Jordan doesn’t question it. He does as he’s told and gets out of bed, shuffling through his little suitcase methodically. He thinks that he’d do anything Virgil asked of him, and isn’t _that_ a dangerous thought?

He’s not quite sure how he ended up in this situation. Jurgen, toying with the idea of random rooming selections. To help the newer boys on the squad settle in, Jordan, what do you think? Jordan thought it was a good idea at the time, but as soon as he saw his name in tiny font on that sheet of paper, right next to Virgil’s – well, he wasn’t quite so sure anymore.

There’s something between them. That’s obvious. And not just to Jordan, either: Virgil knows. Jurgen knows. Everyone else knows, too, and the only thing that’s holding them back is, well, _Jordan_. His responsibilities. His weaknesses. His flaws, and the fear of letting go of the control he clings to so desperately. 

He’s just not sure how to do that. Who is he when he hasn’t got a fist hold on life? 

It doesn’t matter anymore. Not now, in this moment, some time past four in the morning after a delicious European win. He’s been sleeping six foot away from Virgil for hours and was aware of his presence the entire time he was unconscious. It made him feel safe. Nobody’s ever made him feel like that before.

He feels safe now, too. He doesn’t know where he’s going when Virgil grabs his wrist and leads him out of the room and down the hallway. The skin on skin contact is incredible. It’s too warm for a jacket, out here in sunny Spain, so Jordan lets the warm breeze ruffle through the hairs on his arms gently. 

Virgil seems to know exactly where he’s going. He doesn’t say anything on the journey, and the streets are empty. It’s a little bit of a shock compared to what Jordan is used to – bright, burning sun in the daylight, hundreds of thousands of millions of people that know who they are and stop them for pictures. 

This is the complete opposite. It’s quiet and dark and the moon is silver and dull, and they turn a sharp left and the smell of warm night air turns to something more earthy. Pine needles and fresh cut grass. A small clearing that leads to a well worn path between some trees, and Jordan turns to look at Virgil questioningly.

“Trust me,” Virgil whispers, using his free hand to tap underneath Jordan’s chin gently. Jordan does, absolutely, entirely, so he smiles, and he follows every single step that Virgil takes. It’s almost embarrassing, the way he’d willingly follow Virgil to the ends of the earth. Almost, because –– it’s still the thing that makes the world spin on its axis every day. That, alone, makes it worth it. “Ah, be careful, okay? There are some loose roots from the trees. I don’t want to get you injured when we’re not even supposed to be out.” 

Jordan has to laugh at that. It would just about sum up all of his fears about Virgil, but it’s okay. He’s not thinking about that tonight (mostly because he’s still half asleep and he wouldn’t have the capacity for it, even if he wanted to).

“How did you even know this was here?” Jordan murmurs, reaching out to his left and brushing his hand through some thick fern bushes. Each leaf bounces off his skin like he’s not even there, like he’s made of nothing but stardust and love. Ethereal, but not physical. Tangible but invisible. That’s exactly how Virgil makes him feel. 

“Joe and I went for a walk earlier,” Virgil says dismissively, but Jordan wants to hear all about it. He wants to know every single detail: how Virgil felt, what he saw, the things he talked about to the man he considers a brother. Jordan is almost envious knowing that he missed that side of Virgil, but he knows that nobody else gets this side of him, either.

There’s plenty of time to discover all the facets of each other.

Jordan does exactly what Virgil asked him not to and stumbles over a fallen tree branch. His ankle twinges, just a little bit, and he stumblesslidesslips into Virgil’s chest, hands coming up to steady himself. He can feel Virgil’s fingers on his hips, too low to be effective, but he doesn’t quite have it in himself to complain.

“Idiota,” Virgil whispers teasingly, the Spanish syllables sliding off his tongue beautifully. It suits him. Every language suits him, Jordan thinks, especially when he’s using it to talk about Jordan. His lips are a spot of warmth at the older man’s temple and then they’re gone, so fast that he’s sure he imagined it. The smile on Virgil’s face proves that he’s not. “Be careful, el cariño.” 

“Where are you taking me?” Jordan grumbles. It’s playful, though – he doesn’t mean it. He never does when he’s with Virgil, because Virgil makes him feel as light as a feather. “Portugal?”

“Ah, não, estamos quase lá, querido,” Virgil says, slipping into Portuguese easily. Jordan thinks he should stop spending so much time with the Brasileiros – or maybe Jordan himself should start spending more time with them. At least he’d be able to understand the sweet words coming out of Virgil’s mouth. “I said, we’re almost there.”

He’s definitely missing a word off the end of that translation, but Jordan isn’t going to push him on it. 

Virgil goes quiet again. Thoughtful, almost, and Jordan just gets caught in the way the moonlight makes his skin look silver. He’s probably the most beautiful thing on the planet right now. Jordan feels breathtakingly blessed that he’s the only one who gets to see it, and he swallows the lump in his throat. 

“Are you okay, schatje?” Virgil says quietly. He comes to a stop and smiles when Jordan bumps into him, curving a large palm around his cheek so he can’t look away. “Talk to me –” his fingertips brush against Jordan’s temple delicately. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“It’s nothing, Virg,” Jordan says, curling his fingers around Virgil’s wrist. The younger man smiles but tilts his head in question, so Jordan rolls his eyes. He’s finding it increasingly difficult to keep anything from Virgil. It could start to become a problem sometime soon. “I’m just happy.” 

“Because of me?” Virgil asks. His face lights up at the prospect, and it takes Jordan every ounce of willpower in his body to not lean up and kiss Virgil right now. “Good. We’re here, anyway. It’s just past these hedges.” 

Jordan frowns but Virgil has already carried on down the path, hands joined and fingers tangled. He drags him through the greenery, tells him to mind his step, and then stops again at another clearing. He stands still, trembling, while he waits for Jordan to take it all in.

“Wow,” Jordan breathes, looking out across the lake. It’s a bright, brilliant blue, even under the cover of darkness, and patchwork silver where the moon reflects off the surface of the water. A dragonfly hovers over the shore, reflecting purple. “This is – wow.”

“Such a way with words,” Virgil laughs, teasing kindly. His tone is dripping sweet like honey. “Could I have this swim?”

“Good one,” Jordan says, raising his eyebrow, but when he turns to look at the younger man, he’s already started stripping his t-shirt over his head. He kicks his trainers off and grins at Jordan’s dropped jaw as he bends down to peel his socks off of his feet. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Virgil asks, straightening back up. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his joggers and huffs out a quiet little laugh when Jordan’s gaze strays there. He can’t seem to look anywhere else. The v of his hips is so inviting. “I’m going night swimming.” 

“By yourself?” Jordan asks, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding.

“No – with you,” Virgil says, pushing his joggers over his hips and down his thighs. He’s standing at the shore of the water in nothing but his briefs, bold as brass and not caring that Jordan’s line of sight can’t seem to focus above his neck. He’s the most wonderful thing anyone could ever witness. 

“What if we get caught?” Jordan asks quietly. He’s almost mortified at the question, because he’s not some prude little school girl, but they’ve both got important statuses as role models. Responsibilities. Commitments. 

“Who’s around to catch us, liefje?” Virgil asks, and Jordan holds his breath as the younger man hollers loudly into the air. His voice echoes, gets caught in the wind and carries for miles, but nobody comes to see what the commotion is about. Virgil smirks and sheds his boxers. “Catch me if you can, skipper.” 

And then he takes off down the shore of the lake.

Jordan can’t stop watching him, stood stock still where Virgil left him. The muscles of his back shift every time he takes a step and he looks back over his shoulder, smiling amusedly. His body disappears under the water and he turns to face the older man, lifting one hand above the surface to curl a beckoning finger.

That’s all Jordan needs.

He almost trips over himself in his haste to get out of his clothes, and he purposefully drops them on top of the clothes that Virgil shed to create a one big pile. If a stranger came along now, he wouldn’t know the difference between the two of them. He wouldn’t know the things that separate them, or the problems that are keeping them apart.

That thought is the only thing that keeps his head held high as he approaches the edge of the water. He can see Virgil’s face a little further out, eyes trained on Jordan’s body and a wide, lopsided grin tattooed across his mouth. It doesn’t slip as Jordan takes his first step into the lake.

“Fuck!” He hisses. Virgil dives forward and grabs his ankle before he can take a step back and get out of the water again. “You could have _warned_ me, Virg! It’s freezing!” 

“That’s all part of the fun,” Virgil murmurs, and then he uses the grip on his ankle to pull him under the water. He comes up coughing and spluttering but still laughing, deliriously happy, as he pushes his wet hair out of his eyes. His other arm hooks around Virgil’s neck as the younger man pulls him closer. “You’ve just got to get it over with so the fear doesn’t get you. Like ripping off a plaster, or kissing the person you like for the first time.” 

_Kissing the person you like for the first time_.

Virgil’s eyes are glittering under the moonlight and the reflection of the water is dancing across his skin. The stray baby hairs around his face are curled wet and he’s still smiling, so close that their noses are brushing warmly, and he doesn’t blink when Jordan hooks a leg around his waist. He doesn’t blink or skip a beat or hold his breath. Instead, his palm flattens against the bare skin at the small of Jordan’s back.

It’s now or never.

Jordan pushes up and kisses him breathless. Virgil is expecting it, judging by the way his other hand comes up and flattens against Jordan’s back, and he kisses back twice as hard. It’s incredible, the kind of kiss that halts the earth from orbiting the sun. Virgil’s tongue pushes into his mouth, brushes sparks against his own, curls around the back of his teeth like it belongs. His mouth tastes like peppermint and honey. His skin is so warm against the coldness of the water.

His head is spinning when Virgil finally pulls back, and he’s not sure whether it’s because of the lack of oxygen or the sheer brilliance of the kiss. Everything feels like it’s finally slotted into place now, and he watches Virgil’s face from underneath his lashes – his flushed cheeks, his swollen lips, the delicate flutter of his eyelids. _He_ did that. No one else.

Virgil finally opens his eyes and smiles, the kind that Jordan has never seen from him before. He locks it up in his heart and treasures it.

“What’s that noise?” Virgil asks suddenly, and when Jordan looks stricken, glancing quickly at the trees surrounding the shore, all he does is laugh. _Fucker_. He pinches the thin skin that covers Virgil’s shoulder blade and then kisses his cheek when he acts like it hurts, all sad and wounded. “Don’t worry, poepie. It’s just me and you.” 

_It’s just me and you_. 

Jordan has never, ever felt that more than he does in this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [georginiwijnaldum](https://georginiwijnaldum.tumblr.com/) xo


End file.
